Compromised
by guineamania
Summary: After a fight Enjolras and Grantaire storm off their different ways and no one knows what to do. A tramatic incident leaves the group compromised and their great leader in immense peril
1. Chapter 1

_**10/3/12**_

**Disclaimer – I own nothing from Les Mis itself**

**Compromised**

**So another fanfiction … spawned from an idea in my English lesson … why do all my ideas come during English? … never mind. Anyway enjoy and review!**

**Chapter 1**

Enjolras was walking alone in the streets of Paris. Needless to say, at night these streets weren't the safest places to be but in his anger filled haze he did not care. The street lamps flickered in a cold breeze causing in stoic figure to shiver involuntarily. How dare Grantaire speak to him like that? He had offered the drunkard a place in their society because they were old friends but mentioning Enjolras' troubled past was a leap over the line. Enjolras wiped a rouge tear out of his eye remembering the day that Grantaire heartlessly mentioned. He trusted Grantaire in confidence not to mention to any one what happened and the winecask had broken that very oath. More tears began to well up. He still felt the pain and guilt of the incident even though it was fourteen years ago. He snuck down on the floor with his head in his hands. "I am sorry Ferre, still sorry. It was all my fault," he murmured to himself.

"Are you Monsieur Ricard Enjolras?" A gruff voice from behind him bellowed. Enjolras jumped up and spun round to find a large figure blocking his exit from the alley. Enjolras mustered as much energy and pride as he could before addressing the stranger. "That I am who wishes to know?" Enjolras asked stepping forwards. That was the wrong move to make. Shadowed figures jumped from the roofs surrounding him and all raised handguns pointing at his head. The figure strode forwards and stepped into the circle. "Ricard Julien Enjolras you are arrested for disturbance of the peace and conspiracy for treason. You can come quietly or we can do this how I wish to?" The man asked with a sadistic smile. Enjolras kicked out weakly towards the man but with lightning quick reflexes the man grabbed his leg, twisted and Enjolras collapsed onto the ground. Enjolras let out a cry of pain at his dislocated leg but continued to try to stand up. The famous Ricard Enjolras was not going down without a fight. The leader pulled out a gun and pointed it at the struggling Enjolras. "Are you going to stay down while my men tie you up or do we have to make a mess?" He asked cocking the gun. Enjolras leapt up but at the same time the man let out a shot that smacked and ran though his not dislocated hip. Enjolras collapsed to the floor as blood pooled out from the wound and neither of his legs could hold any weight anymore. The leader smiled. "Here let me help you with that," he chuckled and relocated Enjolras hip with a quick boot. Enjolras cried out and the screams echoed off the enclosed walls. No one came. That was how Paris worked. No one saw anything. No one did anything.

"You two tie him up and you stop him bleeding to death," the commander ordered his men. One man hurriedly bandaged up Enjolras' wound making him cry at every movement. The others tied his arms behind his back and shoved a makeshift gag into his mouth with immense levels of brutality. The leader walked over with a smile and pulled Enjolras' arms up so they were above his head and twisted further than they should ever go. The gag prevented any more cries but tears of pain trickled from his eyes. He was dragged through the dirt by his twisted arms and thrown into a police carriage. Blood was soaking through the bandage and Enjolras was slowly losing consciousness as the pain became too much. When the carriage set off, Enjolras was thrown against the wall and everything became a welcoming black.

The next morning, Enjolras didn't arrive. That wasn't like him. He was never not at a meeting without telling Combeferre exactly why not. Combeferre had walked to Enjolras' flat to pick him up and he wasn't there. Just a slapdash note on the inside of the door saying, "just had to head out! See you at the cafe" So Combeferre had come to the meeting and Enjolras had not turned up at all. Combeferre had improvised a speech but he was constantly watching the door and his mind racing. He cut the meeting short and set off back to Enjolras' apartment, while trying to stop his mind conjuring all the worst case scenarios. Enjolras couldn't be dead. He could not lose his little brother now. He knocked on the door and was about to unlock it when a notice pinned hastily onto the door caught his eye. He tore it off and read it. _To whom this may concern, the owner of this household Ricard Enjolras has been placed under arrest for countless charges. If anyone has any information about this man's business or any of his associates please come to the police and you will be handsomely rewarded for your troubles._ Combeferre gawped at the notice and hurriedly reread it before shoving it into his pocket and making a run for it. He ran straight to the house where he knew Grantaire to be hiding and rammed open the door. Grantaire was stood inside with a gun pointing straight at Combeferre's head.

"Never burst in on me," Grantaire moaned throwing the gun on the bed and sitting down. "What's so urgent that you felt the pressing need to break my door?" Grantaire asked weakly. Combeferre frantically unscrewed that note and threw it at Grantaire. "They found him," Combeferre murmured tears threatening to finally spew out. Grantaire hurriedly read the note and started at it in shock.  
"No ... No!" Grantaire shouted throwing the note at the wall. "We need to save him!" Grantaire shouted and Combeferre nodded.  
"I shall go to the Amis and spread the news. We shall come up with something 'Taire," he promised and darted out of the smashed door. That moment Grantaire's heart shattered again. Enjolras had been taken because he was angry ... Because of him. He had to save him; he just had to. Whatever the cost may be.

Combeferre ran through the streets barging people and carts out of his way in a frenzy. They had prepared for a situation like this but no one had ever actually thought this would happen. He approached the Musian and tried to calm his flapping heart. He was their leader now. He had to be strong despite the impending threat on his best friend and honorary little brother. He still hurried into the almost deserted cafe. Thankfully, the innocent civilians had all left the cafe and only members of the Amis remained. Feuilly was stood at the bar flirting with the temporary bar staff and her vivid red blush was a sure fire sign that he was winning. No one could ever resist the honest worker with a bad boy streak. Courfeyrac was laughing and taking bets with Bahorel on Feuilly's success with the unsuspecting girl. Joly was drinking and having a conversation with Bossuet probably about some condition Bossuet seemed to have caught ... Again. The Musian was still a friendly place but it seemed empty. Without the heart and soul of the revolution, in the form of Enjolras, the room lacked energy and passion. And without the friendly face of Grantaire it was silent as if the building itself was waiting for Grantaire's laughter of the sounds of a bar fight to fill the silence. None came. Everyone turned to face the newcomer hoping for good news. Combeferre was in no position to give any.

"Everyone this is an emergency. We have been compromised," he exclaimed jumping up onto one of the tables. "Enjolras has been arrested and they are hunting for his accomplices," he explained and everyone jumped to their feet.  
"How did they catch him unaware?" Courfeyrac asked even though in his heart. He was sure everyone already knew.  
"He was working of his anger ... At Grantaire," Combeferre whispered and the air became dense and clammy against his sweating skin.  
"Ferre, I believe you owe us an explanation. What was the incident Grantaire spoke of? The consequence he still blamed himself for after all these years?" Courfeyrac asked and Combeferre's heart dropped.  
"I guess ... You had better know. Enjolras asked us all to keep it a secret but the truth is better than what your minds will conjure. Unfortunately I can only tell it from what I have been told of that time not from first hand," Combeferre sighed stating down and the Amis all assembled around his sullen figure. "When we were children, Grantaire, Enjolras and I were practically brothers. Enjolras was as passionate about France as he is now and was constantly talking about a better world," Combeferre smiled weakly. "The problem is ... Enjolras' parents were separated and he lived with his mother and grandfather. His father was an abusive drunkard but his mother kept on giving the bastard second chances. Much like now, Enjolras hid his pain and struggles from Grantaire and I. One day I found him with a black eye and bruises scattered around his body. He claimed to have fallen down the stairs and I could not do anything to get him to tell me the truth. I treated his wounds but reluctantly had to send him back into that house. The next day I went to see Enjolras and he had a gash on his head, more bruises and a broken arm," Combeferre muttered solemnly and the others looked on in shock at what their marble leader had gone through. "I convinced him to come live at my house and reluctantly he agreed. We loved in peace and met Enjolras' lifelong idol and an inspiration for all three of us, his name was Rene and he was a revolutionary. He was like a big brother to all of us and cared greatly. A couple of days later we were on our way back from a meeting when Enjolras' father found us. He grabbed onto Enjolras and they struggled. I appeared and pulled Enjolras away and kicked his father telling Enj to run. His dad fought back kicking me in the stomach and pushing me to the ground before lunging after Enjolras again. Enjolras begged me to leave him but I wouldn't. I fought him off but he was too strong and he picked me up throwing me to the ground. I was out cold bleeding from the head. Enjolras was dragged screaming into his house. I awoke and ran to help but was too late. Thankfully, Rene was walking past and I shouted him before passing out. I was carried back to my house and woke up when a battered and bruised Enjolras was carried in. I treated him and after a couple of weeks we were both healed. Enjolras still blames himself for my injury but things just began to get worse. I feel asleep in the cafe ... And when I eventually awoke, well, I could not remember the past year and a half," he murmured and the room fell deathly silent. "Enjolras blames himself for my memory loss and no matter what we did he would not let it go so we all decided. Enjolras would stop feeling guilty and we would never mention it again," Combeferre sighed rubbing his face. The cafe was silent.  
"Why did he never tell us?" Courfeyrac whispered.  
"It was a sign of weakness and I thought you would all make a fuss of my ... Disability," he stuttered.  
"Not being able to remember is not a disability," Joly exclaimed and Combeferre sighed.  
"It's not that ... I have a cracked skull. Any kind of head injury means I could lose function of my body or lose my memory or it could kill me," he sighed standing up. "But that is not the problem now ... Enjolras is our main priority and I want all of you to forget about this discussion until we are all in the clear," Combeferre insisted, already tired of the looks of pity. Everyone nodded solemnly.

"Joly, you go and get Jehan. Courf you find Marius. Meg," he said addressing the bar girl. "Your boss has measures in place for such an event. You are to close up for the foreseeable future due to staff illness. Your wages will be paid in full with a 100 franc bonus if you swear to keep this whole affair silent," Combeferre announced and the girl gawped before nodding frantically. Joly and Courfeyrac darted out of the doors and set to work on their hidden missions. "Everyone else start loading the supplies out of the back room to upstairs," Combeferre commanded running through the protocols Enjolras and himself had devised to keep the Amis safe. He never believed that he would actually have to do this without Enjolras by his side. Once everyone was working the enormity of this sunk onto his shoulders and he slumped down off the table. It was his fault. It was all his fault, if he hadn't let things get out of hand then Enjolras wouldn't have let his guard down out at night.

Courfeyrac returned with Marius and set the boy to work setting up the upstairs so they could all stay there until the police threat died down. He looked over and spotted Combeferre slumped on the edge of the table with his head in his hands. "Ferre, are you alright mon ami?" He asked hesitantly sitting next to the hunched figure. This episode with Enjolras and Grantaire had taken a lot out of them all but none more than Combeferre. The boy looked like the world rested on his shoulders and he had run himself ragged keeping the Amis afloat despite the fact one of them was missing and their all-powerful leader was plagued with immense anger. Enjolras was like a little brother to the tall blonde. He was probably plagued with the grief of what haunted his best friend. He didn't want all this to hurt his friend's head. They didn't know what they would do without him. He was the backbone of the Amis and they all know that Enjolras needs his big brother.  
"Everything is fine Courf ... We just need to get him back," Combeferre murmured but the philosopher knew that that could not be the whole story. He raised an eyebrow as a polite way of telling Combeferre that he knew that wasn't the whole truth. "I should have stayed with him and tried to calm him down. Those two are always fighting but never on this scale before. They are both hurt and angry ... I knew something bad would happen," Combeferre exclaimed.


	2. Chapter 2

_**14/3/13**_

**Disclaimer – Do I really have to say it …**

**Wow thanks for the support I have gained I love you guys … I really do.**

Barfanichita – Thanks for your support, unfortunately there will not be much Eponine in this fic as I struggle to write her properly but she will be featured

Sarahbob – Thanks for your support … it means a lot to me as I love your work

O – Thank you and I warn you … I probably won't be pleasant!

Juliet116 – hehe You are my favourite reviewer, a regular on both my Les Mis fics *hugs* and their plans will be revealed more later in this chapter

J91 – Well you find out a little more later in the chapter!

Magpie of Silver – Thanks a lot for your review – they make me feel good inside

**Chapter 2**

Water splashed his face and Enjolras was shocked awake. He slowly blinked away the water and the dark splashes in his vision. Enjolras was held firm on his knees in front of the savage who had shot him before. From this position down on the cold stone floor, his assailant looked even more intimidating that in that dark alley. "Wakey wakey princess," the man chuckled as Enjolras shook the last traces of unconsciousness out of his mind. "To start with, will you co-operate and tell me the names and addresses of your friends?" the guard asked with a sly smile. The continuously stubborn revolutionary just spat in his face but before he had anytime to gloat; he was dunked. The men held Enjolras' head under the surface, despite his frantic struggles, until they started to fade. With vicious brutality, he was yanked back up by the hair so his head was held up to the guard. "Now I have two weeks to play around with you and I always get what I want. Will you make it easier on yourself or do I have to fight you?" he asked and Enjolras smiled. "Vive la France!" he shouted with a smirk.

They repeated a painful routine for what seemed like an eternity. The guard would ask Enjolras a question; Enjolras would reply with a witty republican response; he would get dunked or kicked; they would do it all again. Enjolras was not going to back down. He would not let his friends get hurt and his beliefs will never be mocked. If one word could be used to describe Ricard Enjolras, it was stubborn. He would never crack. Never. It was this resolve that kept his mind an impenetrable fortress despite the terrifying water boarding experience. Time had no meaning in that room; the only light came from two candles in the corner and they cast ominous shadows of all the figures. Despite all the precautions he set up just in case of an arrest … he had always assumed that it would be someone else not him. Even though, thinking back, he was the one that was most likely to be arrested. At the end of one of their 'sessions', Enjolras was thrown, ridiculously hard, back into a windowless, dark cell; he was left with his arms tied behind him back and gagged. They were trying to rob him of food and sleep. They obviously hadn't done that much research into their prisoner. Enjolras could go a lot more than two weeks without eating or sleeping. As he lay there, he could not help thinking of his friends, of all the amis. How were they coping … did they follow what they had planned?

"We cannot break into the bastille!" Bossuet shouted over the cries that echoed round the upstairs of the Musian. "Are you all mad? We would all be either killed or captured and Enjolras would be no better situation than before," he shouted and everyone fell silent.

"He's right," Combeferre reluctantly agreed. "I believe our best bet would be on the execution day. They have already started advertising for it. Two weeks yesterday … that means we have twelve days to plan our attack," Combeferre announced taking charge. The amis nodded and calmed down slightly. Combeferre looked around the room at all the expectant faces staring back at him. He wasn't cut out for leadership, he didn't have Enjolras' charisma or motivational speeches; he was perfectly happy being the one to support and care for the leader. He couldn't take that role himself. But he had to now. Courfeyrac edged closer to Combeferre.

"You are doing fine Ferre. We will all stand by you," he murmured with a weak smile. Combeferre looked at the young revolutionary; his eyes were also troubled and his hands shaking almost unnoticeably. He looked around the table to where the rest of the ami's were murmuring amongst themselves. They all looked worried like he was. They needed a leader ... And he was the one most qualified for the position. "We need to split up. If too many people walk out of here to go to the same place then they will begin to get suspicious," Combeferre explained standing up and leaning on the table. "I will stay here as i am the one most likely to be recognised as being with Enjolras on a regular basis. I can work on the plan itself and strategies," Combeferre muttered and everyone agreed. "What do we need for this to work?" He asked the assembled group.  
"Disguises!" Marius exclaimed.  
"Yes, we need two people on disguises. Marius will you take Jehan to gather as many items as you can; hair dyes, hats, tattered clothes, glasses anything," he asked and Courf nodded and the boys sat next to each other talking. "What's next?" Combeferre asked finally sinking into the leadership position.  
"Weapons!" Bahorel shouted with everyone beginning to get involved in the planning.  
"Bahorel take Feuilly and collect weapons and ammunition. The weapons need to be able to be carried on our person without being noticed. Also spare ammunition back here just in case we are pursued," Combeferre instructed and Bahorel nodded calling Feuilly over. "Next!" Combeferre started.  
"Medical supplies, who knows what will happen," Joly exclaims sorrowfully.  
"Great thinking, Joly you go with Bossuet and gather all you think we may need," he explained scanning over all the little groups. "Everyone, while you are out gather any information you can find about the placement of guards and the events if the day. Everyone plan what we will do in the morning ... Courf I need to speak with you," he muttered and Courfeyrac walked over and they stood in the corner. "You will be on a private mission. I only know one person who will be able to gather all the facts we need to succeed," Combeferre whispered.  
"Grantaire," Courfeyrac sighed and Combeferre nodded.  
"Out of the assembled people here you are the one that knows him the best and who he is more likely to talk to. I need you to talk with him and get him to help," Combeferre sighed.  
"I will boss ... I am sure he will want to help. No matter what he feels about Enjolras now he would never leave him," Courfeyrac nodded.  
"Here's the address," Combeferre smiled passing a scrap of paper over.

Grantaire was as busy as the Amis were. He had his own plan. It was in no way foolproof and had a massive risk that someone would blurt something out and both of them would be killed. It was a risk he had to take. He could not leave his Apollo to die. He had over reacted ... It was all his fault. If he had just kept quiet, if he had stuck to the agreement they had made all those years ago. No one would tell, no one would speak of that time and everyone would be happy. But no! He had to go break that bond of trust, speak of the one thing Enjolras hated people to know. His family.

He couldn't do anything properly and always ended up getting those he loved hurt. His plan, however foolhardy it was, was more likely to succeed without any innocents getting injured and all the Amis would be safe. He had thirteen days to solidify his routine and prepare the disguise. The problem is ... Stage one was to get into Enjolras' flat without being arrested. His old skills were nowhere near up to scratch but hopefully he could fluke his way through. That is if they hadn't cleared out all his belongings yet. If they had then that was another problem entirely. Grantaire sat assembling his fire arms in preparation and his fingers brushed in the pistol that Rene had given him.

_The young Grantaire sat with a pint of ale in the corner watching Combeferre and Enjolras dart around excitedly. The energy and rebellious nature had been beaten out of him and replaced with grim indifference. He was only ten but his mind already relied on at least a pint a day. He felt a body sit down next to him, which loomed over his small figure. "You shouldn't be drinking at your age Nicolas," Rene spoke with a friendly smile. Those words almost made Grantaire put the drink down but a small movement twitched the cut in between his shoulder blades. He remembered why he was drinking and took another swig. "I need to speak to you about something very important," Rene murmured and Grantaire turned to face the man. "I need to give you this," he whispered and offered Grantaire a pristine pistol. Grantaire gasped and softly took the gun._

"_Why?" he murmured._

"_Because I need someone to keep your friends safe when I cannot be there. Julien will not be entirely focused on those he cares about. I doubt that Lucian will be able to shoot. And I trust you Grantaire, you are the realist," Rene explained making Grantaire blush. "Keep it hidden and use it for the cause and safety of your friends," Grantaire nodded sliding it carefully into his hidden pocket. _

"_I will," he side with a smile, feeling proud of the firearms he wore._


	3. Chapter 3

**27/3/13**

**Thanks for your continued support though out this … it is still in harmony with Without My Apollo's Love!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – I know … poor, poor Apollo …

Juliet116 – awww *blushes* Grantaire is going to get himself in plenty of trouble …

Sarahbob – Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy! Also I have begun your fic

Magpie of Silver – Thank you so much I am so happy that you enjoy my work. I believe character development is key!

**Chapter 11**

Courfeyrac was as shocked at the state of Grantaire's hideout as Combeferre. He just didn't hide it as well. Everytime something squeaked or rattled on the floor, the well-off student flinched. He just couldn't see how people lived in such places; let alone people who he knew. This was why he was fighting. Courfeyrac was fighting for a new start for people such as this; so they could live proper lives out of hell holes, similar to this one. Where Combeferre walked ignoring the conditions, Courfeyrac naturally exaggerated his situation. That was just who he was; caring, compassionate but a drama queen at times. He banged on the door and squealed when it growled menacingly. Thumps echoed inside the room. The door was swung open with a piercing wail. "Ferre, please go away, I feel bad enough as it is," he moaned without looking at the figure in the doorway. Grantaire was in even worse state than the day before when Combeferre had seen him. His beard was bristly and unkempt and he was in desperate need of a shave. Days after days of no sleep had left his eyes sunken and dejected; they looked like all hope was lost. The flickering light shone of his pale sickly skin and he was none too pleased to see Courfeyrac. "I give one person my address and suddenly everyone knows," he grumbled slamming the door in Courfeyrac's face. Courfeyrac just stood there gawping at the decaying door. He then knocked again hesitantly. "Go away Courf!" he shouted from inside.

"Combeferre sent me, we need your help to rescue Enj," he shouted through the paper thin door.

"Since when did you all suddenly need me!" he shouted back gruffly.

"Nicolas Grantaire open this door or I will kick it down!" Courf shouted and the door swung open again.

"Whatever your plan is it won't work!" he shouted and tried to shut the door again but this time Courf had predicted his movements. The smaller boy was inside the apartment before Grantaire could move. "Courf!" Grantaire exclaimed. Courfeyrac was too busy gawping. Grantaire's one room flat was converted into a scruffy war room. Maps and diagrams nailed onto the walls hung limply. Papers scattered the floor and fire arms were hastily tucked under a blanket. He walked over to the main wall that had a massive map of the square with various positions marked upon it; where Enjolras would come from, where the guillotine would be positioned, where the most guards would be stationed … everything. "Wow," Courfeyrac murmured and Grantaire sighed.

"Please leave," he murmured knowing that Monsieur de Courfeyrac was never going to leave now.

"No way … what the hell are you doing Taire?" Courfeyrac asked examining more of the pages scattered on his decaying table.

"Robin, just don't ask," Grantaire insisted but he was not backing down.

"You're trying to save him," Courfeyrac remarked with a smile.

"What will it take to get you to leave?" Grantaire commented deliberately avoiding the previous statement.

"I need you to tell me your plan and help with ours," Courfeyrac grinned.

"No!" Grantaire said bluntly with as much strength as his weakened body could muster. "What are you going to do if I don't?" he exclaimed, weakening slightly and having to clear some space on a chair so he could sit down.

"I will have to alert Monsieur Lucien Combeferre and he is not in a good mood at the moment," Courfeyrac chuckled mischievously. Grantaire groaned.

"I agree … on one term. You do not ask the details of my plan and you do not try to stop me. I need to do this alone and no one will like it," he mumbled, playing with the strands of the bandage round his arm.

One after the other strands were pulled out and deposited on the floor. The practice kept Grantaire's frantic mind steady and had a repetitive motion to keep his trembling hands steady. He had to be sober … but it was so hard. The wine called to him in a sweet symphony and the harmony of absinthe rang through his pounding head. The liquor called to him with a melodious voice and he felt his concentration waver. "Grantaire, R? Are you alright?" Courfeyrac's voice broke through the poisonous fog clouding his thoughts. "Nicolas," he said clearly; it was as if his voice was a sweet breeze blowing away the fog that had its grasp on his mind. The wispy fingers released his tense mind and he slumped forwards with a groan. "R … are you alright?" Courfeyrac asked cautiously. "You sort of blanked out on me there," he mumbled.

"I'm fine," he stated sitting up straight again. "Do you agree to my terms?" he asked snapping back into his professional state, ignoring the pounding in his head.

"I agree," Courfeyrac conceded with a sigh and Grantaire smiled weakly; he was trying to remain strong and in control in front of his friend. Where they friends? Associates? People who share the same friends? People who happen to vaguely know each other?

After an hour and a bit Courf was leaving Grantaire's apartment equipped with maps and information that he could relay back to Combeferre. Overall it was a successful mission. He set off with a small spring in his step back to the Musian.

Grantaire shut the door and let out a pent up exasperated sigh. Courfeyrac was challenging to put up with at the best of times let alone when in the initial stages of alcohol withdrawal. But he had a plan to put into action. There was no time for Robin or liquor. It was time to go on a raid.

**A/N – I am sorry it is so short butschool is just so urggg at the moment but I should be back to normal length for update on the 30****th**


	4. Chapter 4

_**30/3/13**_

**I have decide that partially as an excuse and partially to help other writer I am going to recommend a fanfic each Chapter – so this chapter: Angel With A Shotgun by ChangingTheCircumstances****! E/R fic which is emotionally adorable and amazingly written**

**Thanks for all your support! I love you guys so much!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Sworry Angel! This chapter is different I promise!

Magpie of Silver - I love Courf so much :) Thanks so much

**Chapter 4**

The sickly summer heat pressed down on Paris. Everyone was moving around quickly trying to stay out the blazing sun and the oppressive heat. All apart from one. One figure stood in the direct light of the blood boiling sun; he was completely oblivious to the hustle of the city going on around him. That figure looked as if he was staring at the gates of heaven not some average Parisian building. It was in no way high class but it was known you have to have money to live in this end of town. The figure was an odd character, he looked as if he didn't belong but yet he was lost in a crowd the instant you looked away. Nicolas Grantaire was stood on the doorstep of Ricard Enjolras' apartment building. He calmed his fluttering heart and closed his eyes. His plan was flawless; anything that could happen he had a response prepared. He knocked on the door.

A petite old woman opened the door and smiled at him. "Can I help you Monsieur?" She asked politely and Grantaire forced an overly sweet and friendly smile onto his usually somber face.  
"Bonjour mademoiselle! I am here to see my cousin Ricard Enjolras but I am afraid I left my key for the front door at home," he chuckled and watched as the kind woman's face dropped.  
"Monsieur Enjolras?" She stammered and Grantaire nodded chirpily.  
"That's the one," he chuckled.  
"I am so sorry but I am afraid M Enjolras has been arrested," he mumbled and Grantaire let his facade of joy drop.  
"R-r-Ricard ... Arrested? Dieu!" He stuttered, planting an expression of pure horror onto his face.  
"I am so sorry," she added and Grantaire looked like he was about to faint. Nicolas was a convincing actor; finally he had a skill that was needed in life.  
"Would you like a sit down?" The kind landlady asked and Grantaire nodded slowly.  
"Thank you Madame, this is just a great shock," he murmured with his hands trembling convincingly.

Maybe it wasn't all acting; his hands really were trembling, his head pounding. A sit down sounded really good right now. He followed her into the building with shaky unsure steps. He had to do this; the plan had to come through. For Apollo's sake. It was all for his Apollo. They had left each other with harsh words and poisonous feelings but Grantaire could never keep hold for long. The guilt tore his heart and made his iron resolve even stronger. Apollo was his idol, even though, that idol hated him at the moment. But it's that the point of having an idol; you don't care if they hate you or scorn you, they are a god. They are … well … Apollo incarnate. The nice lady opened her door for him and he stepped inside politely. "Thank you mademoiselle, you have been very kind," he murmured slowly sitting down. "I just can't believe little Ricard is … is," he choked holding back floods of fake tears. The landlady made him a strong coffee and he sat their cradling the non-toxic drink.

"Were you two very close, I am afraid I do not know about M Enjolras' family," she admitted also sitting down.

"We used to be very close but Ricard severed all ties with his family when he left. We have remained in brief contact since," he whispered.

"I am afraid I didn't catch your name," the landlady said softly.

"Oh my apologises, my name is Raoul Enjolras," he smiled weakly and offered his hand; she shook it courtly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, I just wish it was under better circumstances," the old woman murmured and Grantaire nodded.

"Would you, would you mind if I … I look in his apartment. I would like to save some of his most treasured things. I've got my own key," Grantaire murmured while a forced tear dripping into his coffee for effect.

"Of course darling," the landlady exclaimed. "We can't have those scoundrels getting their hands on M Enjolras' stuff," he nodded and Grantaire smiled softly.

"Thank you," he said softly passing the cup back to her. He stood up slowly and walked to the door and out towards Enjolras' door. He unlocked it and slid inside. He hurriedly pulled out a black bag from under his coat and lined the bottom with clothes of Enjolras' before Mme Landlady walked in.

Grantaire picked up some of the pamphlets and incriminating pages and slid them into the bag along with what he knew were Enjolras' favourite books.

It had been years since he had been in this apartment. Yet every single detail was etched into his mind; the French flag hung on the wall, the waistcoats strewn on the floor, the books open everywhere. He sighed and made sure everything was as it should be. "Can I just have a moment?" Grantaire stammered with fake tears welling up in his eyes.

"Of course," the landlady said softly and shut the door. As soon as the door clicked shut, all pretences were gone and he set to work. He knew that Ricard Enjolras always kept all important documents under a loose floorboard under his bed. Don't ask how he knew … he just did. There was no time to think about that now. He pulled the loose board up and pulled out all the official documents he would need to play Enjolras realistically. Lining the base of the hidden compartment was an old scrapbook that Grantaire had not laid his eyes on in about ten years. He pulled it out with immense care and the dust bloomed into a cloud surrounding him. The coughed wafting it away and laying eyes on the worn blue cover he knew so well. It was the scrapbook Combeferre's mother had bought them as a present when they were eight after Ferre's accident. He opened the front cover and Enjolras' familiar scrawl was spread out on the back of the cover. _Dear future selves, we have all written this scrapbook in case one of the three amis ever forgets about the others or the cause. We pray this will never come to use but it will also serve as a good memory for us. Please keep this going and maintained. Julian Enjolras-Combeferre, Lucien Combeferre and Nicolas Grantaire Age 8_

Grantaire sat down slowly flicking through all the pages looking at pamphlets taped in, letters, Enjolras' speeches, Grantaire's drawings … Rene's drawing. Rene's pin, drawings of the four together. They had started it after the day that Enjolras' dad had attacked the pair. And Combeferre had lost his memory of the previous year.

"_Come on it is a great idea Ferre!" Grantaire exclaimed and Enjolras nodded. _

"_I just don't know," Combeferre murmured. _

"_Just in case it happens again. Then we'll be prepared," Enjolras reassured him._

"_And it will store all our memories in it and it will be fun to keep going," Grantaire pouted until Combeferre reluctantly agreed._

"_Well … what should we put in first?" Combeferre asked and Grantaire grinned._

"_We will need a note to tell us why we did this and to remind ourselves. Enj you write, you have the neatest handwriting," he chuckled, excited by the prospect. Enjolras scribbled a note on the cover and they all approved._

"_What should go in first?" Combeferre asked and Grantaire took the book. _

"_Why don't I draw us?" Grantaire suggested and the idea was met with approval between the two other parties._

Grantaire lightly stroked the drawing as the memories flooded back; they all looked so happy together. What went wrong? He chuckled slightly at Enjolras' signature of Enjolras-Combeferre; Combeferre's parents had taken him in to keep him away from his father and he fitted into the perfect family like he had been born into it. The images of Rene still tore into his heart. Their idol, their inspiration … dead. Grantaire could not see how Enjolras could bear to start another barricade after Rene. The barricade had killed their best friend and was now going to kill all of them as well. He carried on reading until he reached the point where he no longer featured in the book. That when his Apollo began to hate him. Pages after pages were full of the amis and revolutionary items but there was no more Grantaire. He stowed that in the bag along with the other book and stood up. After returning the room to its rightful order, he left; the landlady said a kind goodbye as he filtered into the crowd.

It had been a long couple of days for Ricard Enjolras. The abuse both physical and mental had begun to take its toll on his body and morale. He had run out of creative republican quips long ago and was now exhausted. The door clunked open and Enjolras supressed a groan. "Afternoon pretty boy," he chuckled stepping it. Enjolras sat as tall as his battered body could manage but the man just laughed. "Loyal and proud, I am going to enjoy breaking you. I can do whatever I want to do to you, as long as it doesn't harm your pretty little face. We want your petty friends to recognise their fallen leader," he chuckled.

"Don't you dare insult my friends!" he shouted standing up. No one insulted the amis de l'ABC, no one. The guard slapped him.

"I can do what I want," he snarled and Enjolras turned away unable to hold his sore cheek because of the manacles. "Whereas you on the other hand are chained up like a prized hound," the general hissed and Enjolras bit back a retort at the dent in his ego. "Like a dog, I own you for the rest of your life. Which I can promise you will not be long. Tell me about your friends," he growled. There was a long silence as Enjolras regained his composure before turning back to face his captor.  
"Woof," he whispered and keeled over as he was kneed in the gut.  
"I will break you dog! Take my work for this, you will fall so low you are begging to tell me your secrets," he snarled. "Gag him and tie his up properly. I am fed up speaking with him," his captor growled kicking Enjolras in the chest one more time before leaving. The guard set to work toeing him up again despite Enjolras' calculated strikes. He was left there in the darkness, alone, bound, tired and hungry. But still his mind fell back to his Amis and praying that they were all still free and unharmed.


	5. Chapter 5

_**2/4/13**_

**Fanfiction of this chapter: Awakening by Eleix Moone. Read it is great E/R action and caring!Enjolras**

**Also this is the point where Without My Apollo's Love will split with this. For the next two chapters, they will have the same events but each section will be told from different character's points of view.**

**Thanks for the support I have gained and this makes me want to continue writing for you!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – It was slightly different but this chapter is completely changed. Same plot but you get to see the situation from different people

Magpie of Silver – Thanks so much, Grantaire is my favourite character ever so I glad I do him justice

Juliet116 – Thanks, I love writing flashbacks. I believe they are a great way to get to know a character

**Chapter 5**

The steel door thumped open, jolting Enjolras out of his uneasy sleep. He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in the past two weeks. Well, that was their intention anyway. His head pounded and his stomach felt as if it was eating itself from the inside out. But Ricard Enjolras would not be weak in front of these savages. He would stand tall and proud like he was there of his free will. They would not win. The cell that had been his home for the past two weeks surely had to be the worst one they could find for their 'favourite' prisoner. The walls were damp and water dripped rhythmically down into an ever growing puddle in the corner. The bed would be lucky to be classified as a bed; it was more a bag of springs on a bar. He had never slept on it so he didn't really have any faults against the bed. This bumbling idiot who just opened the door … now that was another matter entirely. He took great pleasure in knowing that whether he lived or died, that man would pay for these injustices. He had no right to use such interrogation techniques and no right to execute him on conspiracy alone.

He knew that his friends would have some rescue plan ready … and he had to admit that he wanted them to succeed. He was scared, Ricard Enjolras was scared. He'd be damned if he would admit it but in his heart he was terrified. No one wanted to die. He could talk as much as he wanted about how he was 'not afraid to die for the cause' or 'the blood of the martyrs' but the fear still lingers. It is the niggling pain in the base of your heart. It is those poisonous doubts that never leave your mind. Subconscious fear, it plagues every single man. Every great leader has suffered from it; the only difference is how well you hid it. Napoleon had his doubts but he was so charismatic no one noticed. That was what Enjolras was aiming for. He did not mean to be marble … but no one could see him scared.

"It's your big day, pretty boy," his enemy chuckled, kicking him in the gut. He winced but did not give the demon satisfaction of showing the tearing agony on his face. Every moment felt like the lick of flames on his skin but his resolve never faltered. Within seconds he had been hauled to his feet and was trying to convince his battered legs that they needed to carry his weight for just a few moments longer. They both protested but reluctantly conceded. _Thank you both,_ he thought; then frowned at himself. What just happened? Did he just … ? He brushed the thoughts out of his mind. This was not the time to be questioning his sanity. His rebellious legs cooperated in walking through the corridors until he was pushed cruelly into an awaiting carriage. A childhood story flashed into his mind as the doors shut. The Phantom Carriage; a story of a dark carriage that carried the souls to the realm of the dead. Was he already dead? No, Enjolras would have noticed if he was dead … surely? _What is happening to you Ricard? _He asked himself. _Are you not as mentally strong as everyone assumes? Why in God's name am I asking myself questions in the second person?_

The carriage rolled and rattled through the cobbled streets. Every jerk made his bones jar and the world blur around him. He didn't know how much more of this his broken body would be able to take. He didn't know how much more of this his broken mind could take. The only thing take kept him sane were the image of the amis. The memories of Combeferre scolding him for not sleeping again. The memories of Courfeyrac trying to force a drink down his throat before being distracted by some woman. The memories of Joly exclaiming he had pneumonia and forcing Combeferre to treat him. Grantaire's cynical smile whenever he had gotten himself into an argument. He had to be strong, even if it was just for them. The fight had to continue even if he was not there to see it happen. The new day would dawn … whether he was leading it or not was of no consequence. But he knew that if he was seen defeated then people would fear. Fear was the bane of any revolution.

The carriage drew to a halt with a large bump that struck pain in waves throughout his body. Every move was agony and needless to say, the police did not care. He had been arrested before; it was an unavoidable part of being a revolutionary. They had just never been this brutal. He was hauled to his feet and his hands cuffed behind his back, causing his spine to click and burn. _Stay strong, must stay strong_; two phrases running like a mantra through his mind as the pain roared. _Stay strong, must stay strong. Stay strong, must stay strong._ He repeated it over and over as he was walked up to the looming platform. The drum pounded in his ears, causing his fluttering heart to pound even harder. The silence of the attended masses made the situation even worse. How many of those people were here to laugh as he died? He stepped up onto the stage and tried not to look at anyone in the crowd. He stared straight forwards at the horizon but one figure stood out.

Combeferre was stood at the side of the stage. His brother (well close enough) was looking increasingly nervous and was wringing his hands. Enjolras sighed; he thought he had convinced Combeferre to stop that years ago. He avoided looking at Combeferre, afraid that the familiar figure would break his resolve. _Stay strong, must stay strong._ His mind blanked out as the man read out his fictional charges. He didn't even respond as they pushed him to the guillotine. The shot snapped him out of the pain-filled day dream. A mysterious figure stood in the middle of the crowd with a pistol raised. Enjolras peered at the figure, subconsciously he recognised him but he could not place it. As the figure lifted his head, Enjolras could not conceal his gasp of shock. It was Grantaire. What was Grantaire doing? _Nicolas you idiot!_ He thought to himself. A small circle appeared around him and Enjolras was absolutely sure it was his drunken friend. He shot into the sky again and everyone fell silent once again. "You have the wrong man … I am Ricard Enjolras!" he cried out and Enjolras's jaw dropped. Despite all the shock coursing through his mind; one thought shone through … _That's my waistcoat!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**8/4/13**_

**I am so sorry for the long wait! I have been overwhelmed with work and have has no spare time what so ever!**

**Thanks for all your reviews and faves and follows!**

Sarahbob – Thanks a lot I am so glad you like and this chapter will be the same as WMAL but all from Combeferre's POV

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – I just could not resist!

Magpie of Silver – As I said to angel, it was just too good an opportunity to waste, glad you like

Juliet116 – Maybe our resident drunkard is more cunning than he seems, you'll have to read to find out!

**Chapter 6**

Combeferre was still in shock. They had all been ready for him to shoot into the air, then start a fight so they could get Enjolras out of there. But Grantaire went and did this. He couldn't go sacrificing himself for Enjolras, he just couldn't; but yet it was something only Grantaire would dare to do. That man had such a low opinion of his life that he was willing to drink himself to death, basically commit suicide and sacrifice himself for Enjolras. Combeferre hated to think it, but he was glad Grantaire had done this. The lingering doubts in the back of his mind told him that they would never have all got out of here with the amis' hare-brained scheme. Those doubts now returned with renewed vigour telling him all the things he never wanted to believe.

_You'd have got them all killed for nothing! Even the drunkard can come up with a better plan than you managed. Enjolras was supposed to be your brother and you can't save him._ The voice in his head insisted on shattering his morale into thousands of tiny pieces until nothing remained. Everyone had a cynic inside them; it was just that Lucien Combeferre's seemed to be more violent than others. He had been told it was due to self-confidence issues; he just wished it would leave him alone. He looked up to the stage for the much needed confidence from his best friend and little brother but Enjolras looked like he was frozen solid in shock and horror.

"I am the real Ricard Enjolras, let the boy go. He is innocent," Grantaire announced sternly and everyone's attention was drawn back to him. Unfortunately, the head of police, who everyone knew to have a grudge against all revolutionaries, jumped onto the stage to address Grantaire directly with fury radiating from every bone in his body.

"Liar, we all know this is Enjolras!" he screamed from the stage and Combeferre winced. No one ever wanted to have a one on one standoff with that man. However, Grantaire looked unfazed and maybe even slightly cocky. "That child is just the façade the real Enjolras hides behind," Grantaire declared holding his chin up proudly. "You cannot seriously expect the leader of a successful revolution to go around declaring his identity to anyone who asked," he chuckled to spite the hateful man. The chief's anger built, reaching new heights, but he still remained stoic when speaking with Grantaire.

"Why reveal yourself now then, oh mighty leader?" he asked with a jokey, sarcastic bow and a slight growl resonating in his gruff voice.

"I will not let an innocent boy die in my place. Take me, not him," he announced through the gasps in the crowd.

Combeferre feel his jaw slacken in shock even though he knew that would be coming. There must be more to his plan. He wouldn't just throw himself in there with the dogs. All the man did was laugh. "Then we shall take both of you," he cackled ordering his men to advance as two others restrained Enjolras. Grantaire shot into the air again and Combeferre flinched at the noise.

"I thought I said, stop!" he shouted so that his powerful voice bounced off everything lining the square. "You think I would come here alone for this trade," he laughed. "I have armed men waiting in every corner of this square, if you try to double cross … they start shooting," he threatened and Combeferre grumbled.

"And what if you are lying?" the guardsman asked and Grantaire chuckled. Grantaire was now including all them in his stupid plan without giving them any warning. Combeferre raised his gun slightly and firing into the sky and prayed the others would follow his lead, for Grantaire and Enjolras' sake. Another shot came from the back of the square and soon they were all echoing around the square. Combeferre watched as Grantaire smirked at the guard, who was rapidly turning red in fury.

"Those are my men. Take my offer or we start shooting," he declared raising his gun. "And you will be the first to go," Grantaire winked and Combeferre felt like hitting him. You don't taunt men like that; it would never end well for you.

"I take your … offer," he snarled hesitantly and all the police slowly backed off. Grantaire grinned striding through the parting crowd to the base of the stage.

He was a surprisingly accurate Enjolras. No one knew Grantaire could act like this; it seemed the winecask had many hidden talents that he refused to show the amis. He had the right level of charisma and confidence to balance the attitude Enjolras always sported. Also how had he managed to get a hold of Enjolras' clothes to pull this off? This was not some rapidly formed plan that he came up with last night; this must have been planned down to the detail far in advance for him to have include this fine level of detail in the proceedings. Combeferre looked up to the stage just in time to see the guards release Enjolras. He let out a sigh of relief that this section of Grantaire's reckless plan had succeeded. The guards then pushed the almost limp Enjolras off the stage and his body thumped onto the stone cobbles lining the street below.

It looked as if every muscle in his body roared with pain and a cry of pain erupted from his dry lips. Combeferre leapt over as soon as Enjolras hit the floor to help his friend. He looked in so much pain. Combeferre could not bear to see him this way. He was about to cry Enjolras' name or use it to comfort him, but then it hit. Ricard could not be Enjolras anymore. He had to be Grantaire now. "It's all going to be fine Nic," Combeferre murmured reluctantly. He watched as a moment of confusion flickered over Enjolras' pale features before the pain hit him again. "We can go back to calling you by your real name now, Nicolas," Combeferre insisted and he saw Enjolras' features then change from pain to outright shock.

"N-no ... Taire no!" He cried struggling weakly against Combeferre's grasp. "I'm Enjolras, don't lie Nicolas!" He screamed but it was obvious his energy was steadily deserting him.

"Ignore him ... Loyal to the end. Took him in off the streets once his parents left him. Feels some life debt," Grantaire whispered to the chief guard and Enjolras screamed at him with all his remaining strength.

"Nicolas Grantaire, don't you dare do this to me!" He shouted before stumbling, leaning further onto Combeferre as the last reserves of his strength was expelled during the outburst. He looked up as the cuffs were tightened round Grantaire's pale, fragile wrists. Combeferre watched, helping Enjolras stand up straight as the drunkard was looking back at him, pleading with his eyes. He slowly shook his head. That gesture was the final straw for Enjolras and he responded in a way no one had seen him do before. He cried. He curled up in Combeferre's grip and cried. Combeferre took his trembling figure into his arms and picked him up, knowing that if Enjolras saw anything else it would be the breaking of him.

The other Amis all assembled around them at Combeferre's apartment. It was obvious Enjolras could not bear to go back to his own and neither could Combeferre bear to watch over him there. It reminded him too much of Grantaire, and they still hadn't got the blood stain off the door yet. Enjolras let out another choked sob. Combeferre sat comfortingly next to their weak leader and his determination returned in floods. Grantaire would not die. What he did was heroic and they could not stand by and watch as he was killed for that exact deed.


	7. Chapter 7

_**12/4/13**_

**Thanks for all the support and this is another chapter reliving the events of WMAL in other characters eyes but some major plot points have to remain the same and for this I apologise.**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – sorry you know what is going to happen when you get an update from me!

Sarahbob – Thanks so much … the support I receive it just breath-taking! P.S – I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER OF "NO PLACE FOR A REVOLUTIONARY" NOW!

Stagepageandscreen – Although there is Grantaire in this I am afraid it is still a couple of chapters before we know the outcome!

Juliet116 – Sorry sweetheart! And you know behind the calmest exterior can be the most ferocious of storms

Magpie of Silver – Thanks so much for the outstanding support!

**Chapter 7**

Combeferre held the trembling figure close to him. Grantaire's sacrifice had effected their marble leader in more ways than any of them could have imagined. He sat there comforting Enjolras as the pent up emotions flowed out. Despite what people thought, Enjolras was not marble through and through; he wore a marble façade but inside was a whirling storm of anger, passion and emotions he would never show. Until now that is, now all those emotions bubbled at the surface and poured out of his cracked shell. Combeferre mouthed goodbyes and thanks to the rest of the amis as they slowly left the pair alone. He felt Enjolras' tears run out and his marble repair itself slowly. "So sorry," he mumbled, obviously trying to regain his lost composure as Combeferre expected.

"It is alright Ricard," he sighed, slowly brushing Enjolras' matted blonde curls away from his face. "How about we get you cleaned up then you can rest," Combeferre whispered and Enjolras reluctantly nodded. He helped Enjolras to his unsteady feet but soon took the entirety of Enjolras' weight as he saw the pain flicker over his little brother's face. He was sorely tempted to pick up the slightly younger man but knew Enjolras would not appreciate another dent to his pride.

"Thank you Ferre," Enjolras murmured and the other man smiled.

"Anytime Enj," he replied with a small smile growing.

After Combeferre had methodically helped Enjolras clean all the prison grime and blood of his body, he set work on all Enjolras' plethora of wounds. Cuts and bruises coated every inch of his body, one arm was dislocated and his shin was shattered. Thankfully everything should heal up fine and their passionate leader should be back on his feet within a couple of weeks. The only problem was the leg. They couldn't take him to a hospital; and no doctors would want anything to do with a just released convict, even if he was acquitted. It was all down to Combeferre and Joly; the pressure was unbearable on him. He had to do it though, Enjolras needed him. Combeferre helped him onto the bed; for once Enjolras was allowing people to help him. This little change in his demeanour relieved Combeferre but also scared him. He had prayed that everything would be the same once Enjolras was returned to them. It wasn't. He doubted things would ever be the same throughout the Amis de l'ABC anymore.

Enjolras was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep but Combeferre knew best when it came to medicine. "Ricard, I need to relocate your shoulder. This is going to hurt mon ami," he sighed and Enjolras clenched his teeth and nodded slowly. The pain spread like a wild fire from the top of his arm to his mind but Enjolras did not cry out. He was fed up of crying in pain. He was strong; he would not cry. When the vicious pain subsided, his arm was not hurting at all. It was still a little sore but the relief was instantaneous. He sighed in relief and Combeferre smiled weakly. "I'll put it in a sling to rest it but it should be fine now. Your leg is of more concern," he mumbled and Enjolras' heart dropped. He was certain he would never be able to walk again. This was it; he would be a bed-ridden cripple for the rest of his life. "If I set it well then you should be back on your feet in a week or two," Combeferre explained and Enjolras' face brightened slightly.

"A w-week," he stuttered and Combeferre smiled.

"Yes but only short spells of time on your feet and no serious excursion," Combeferre replied sternly and Enjolras nodded frantically. "And I will need Joly's help to do it," he added. "Can he help?" Combeferre asked.

"Of course … but no hospitals, please," Enjolras asked and Combeferre agreed.

Courfeyrac hurried up the stairs to Enjolras' apartment. Gavroche had arrived on his doorstep carrying a black bag that was about the size of the child himself. He said it was from Grantaire and no one was to look at it apart from Enjolras. A note was taped to the top addressed to Courfeyrac.

_To my closest friend Courf, if this note and bag has reached you courtesy of Gav then my plan is succeeded and I doubt I will ever see you again. But that is not a bad thing if Apollo is safe. Please take this to him … I am not one for sentimental goodbyes but this is better than no goodbye at all. Thanks for all you have done, R. _

Courfeyrac felt like hitting the drunkard but also felt this urge to hug him and promise him everything would be alright. Taire had been through so much and he needed support, not a reason to sacrifice himself. He knocked on the door as lightly as he could and stood there fidgeting. Combeferre opened the door, looking incredibly worse for wear.

"For 'Jolras," Courfeyrac murmured and Combeferre nodded. "How are you coping?" Courfeyrac whispered as Combeferre gently shut the door behind him.

"Alright … it just hurts to see him like this," Combeferre admitted and Courfeyrac agreed whole-heartedly. He wasn't looking forward to getting his first proper look at the weakened Enjolras but this needed delivering. "And he is not taking Grantaire's trade for him well," Combeferre mumbled running a hand through his blonde hair and chewing on the end of his glasses.

"I didn't think he would be," Courfeyrac mumbled clasping Combeferre on the shoulder supportively. "I'll pass this over and be out of your hair. It's from R, Gav delivered it this evening," Courfeyrac explained passing him the bag. Combeferre shook his head.

"Can you stay … if it is from Grantaire I may need some help," he murmured unsure and Courfeyrac reluctantly agreed. He stepped further into the apartment and hesitantly in Enjolras' room.

"Enj … he left this for you," Courfeyrac mumbled, not needing to say who. Combeferre supported Enjolras and used the pillows to prop him up but the man did not notice at all. He only saw the bag. Courfeyrac gently placed it on his knee and he opened it slowly; everyone wanted to know what was inside.

His head pounded. Everything hurt. The darkness swarmed around him but refused to take him in its sweet embrace. Grantaire had only been in this prison for a few hours but the head guard was angry. He is violent when angry. Needless to say, Grantaire soon became the receiver of that anger through intense violence. Maybe the witty retorts he replied with after every strike didn't help either. At least Enjolras was safe; at least his Apollo would not be hurt anymore. He still wore Enjolras' red waistcoat. They had let him keep his original clothes so 'he could watch as the symbols of liberty were tattered and ruined in front of his eyes!' Thank Dieu for small mercies. He was willing to endure this for an eternity if it meant his Apollo could stay free and safe.

The door thumped open again and bright beam of light pierced the cloudy gloom that smothered him. "We need to validate your story," the man snarled at Grantaire's limp figure. "Tell us things from your childhood only one other person would know and we will leave your little friend alone," he commanded and Grantaire instantly launched into the long story of Enjolras' childhood leaving out his involvement obviously. "So this 'brother' of yours will be able to verify this?" the guard asked and Grantaire nodded. "If even one second of his story does not match up or it seems planned in anyway, all three of you will be brought in!" he threatened before hitting Grantaire in the head with his truncheon. The room spun again and he could feel his heart beat in his head.

"Tough love," he whispered with a chuckle and received a blow to the stomach for his troubles.

Grantaire needed a drink. He needed one now. The alcohol was speaking to him and his throat burned with the absence of his vital nectar. The blows to his head didn't help either. He would close his eyes and all the drunkard would see was the Green Lady calling to him. He kept his eyes open but the fairies flew round singing in a sweet symphony into his head.

"Stop it!" he cried, clamping his hands over his ears but the sound continued to beat into his skull. "I said stop!" he screamed hitting his own head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the poisonous melody. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard footsteps hurry towards the door but the tune just increased in strength. Grantaire needed a drink. He didn't know how long his mind and body would be able to cope with this forced sobriety. The amis were right; his body was more wine than blood. He needed the red liquor more than he needed blood in his veins. It was still singing to him. "I want it but there is none," the winecask cried out but the song just grew louder. He hit himself again and again until the song backed off and he finally sighed in relief and moved his hands. A crimson liquid stained them from knuckle to palm. The world went woozy and he fell forwards with an echoing thump.


	8. Chapter 8

_**17/4/13**_

**Thanks for all the support and I am sorry about the wait. I have had so much work and have been in a generally foul mood these past few days!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Sorry mate but you will have to wait until next chapter to find out about the bag!

Stagepageandscreen – Thanks a lot and I am sorry about the wait for this chapter

Sarahbob – I'm sorry but you will have to wait for the next chapter to find out about the bags contents, hope you still like this chapter though!

Juliet116 – Thanks mate and sorry for the feels overload!

Justme – Well what's the fun in that :) I would write before posting but I don't want to waste my time if no one likes it!

**I apologise again that a lot of this is the same as WMAL but it needs to be for the plot continuation! I apologise profusely!**

**Chapter 8**

When Grantaire awoke, the pounding in his head was three times as worse as before and his whole body was stiff from hours of non-movement. He tried to stretch out but his hands were securely handcuffed behind his back and to the post of the bed he was sat on. The heavy cast iron door creaked open and Grantaire moaned with the pain roaring through his head. An average prison warden stepped in confidently and shut the door after him. He heard the telltale click that told him it was locked again; that little click vanquished all thoughts of a dramatic break out. Not that a breakout would work anyway. It wold probably get them all killed. The warden held a plastic tray and sat down on a chair in front of Grantaire before placing it in front of him. "It would be much easier to eat without these," he stated clinking the metal handcuffs together.  
"Those are to stop a repeat of last night's incident," the warden replied emotionlessly and picked up the glass of a clear liquid. To any unsuspecting person it would be seen as an average glass of water; but Grantaire knew and he held back a smile.  
"Vodka, you have really out done yourself," The drunkard chuckled leaning forwards towards the precious liquid. The warden tipped it up into Grantaire's mouth and he gulped it greedily. The alcohol flowed through his veins; it was as if the plain glass of liquid brought the winecask back to life again. The warden held his finger to his lips and Grantaire nodded. "Thank you," he whispered as the pounding in his head was vanquished by the might of the alcohol. The warden nodded and proceeded to feed him all the dry bread that came on the plate. Grantaire wolfed it down finally realising that withdrawal and blood loss made you exceedingly hungry.

The warden had been gone for a while and Grantaire was working on the handcuffs. Most government issue handcuffs have a weak link and a bending point. It was just a matter of finding it. It wasn't that he wanted to break out or run; it was just that he wanted to make a point, and handcuffs are exceedingly painful to wear. He was working through the links when the door creaked open again this time with an incredibly less friendly face. "Morning Captain, your henchman seemed to have forgotten to remove these when he came in," Grantaire smiled, clinking the handcuffs together but the captain just glared at him. "What was that last night?" He snarled at Grantaire with hate oozing out go every cell in his body.  
"Well I thought let's see how he reacts if I try to kill myself," Grantaire exclaimed, annoyed that he couldn't use his hands; comments like this always went better with hand gestures. "And my prediction was right," he smirked and received a punch the face for that answer.  
"The handcuffs stay on," he murmured "And don't think of doing that again or I will be ending your life," he threatened and Grantaire was inclined to believe him.

"I need to ask you some more questions," the captain hissed about that story you told me yesterday. The one about your father," he exclaimed and Grantaire nodded he thought back and imagined it as if he was living through Enjolras' eyes.

_The two boys ducked and dodged through the crowded streets of Paris. The young Enjolras and Combeferre had just finished at a meeting. Enjolras' mind was full of ideas and revolutionary thoughts. He had just met his idol; a man named Rene. Passion and joy radiated from him. That was soon to be crushed like an ant. "There you are!" Enjolras' dad roared from the other side of the road. The man had been abusing his son for months and Combeferre had finally convinced Enjolras to run. __Enjolras spun around, his eyes wide with fear. Those eyes that, only moments ago, were wide with revolutionary passion. Combeferre also spun round instinctively. __Combeferre panicked at the sight of Monsieur Enjolras and sprinted towards his house dragging Enjolras behind him. __Enjolras followed close behind, his heart racing, both with anger and embarrassment._ _His father ran after them and grabbed Enj's other arm in a frantic attempt to stop them running. __Enjolras yanked back, his eyes shining with anger, making him look wild. __His father punched the young boy in the face before Combeferre could move him out of the way. __Enjolras tumbled to the ground, unable to catch himself, a hand automatically going to his cheek where the fist made contact. __Combeferre dived in front of Enjolras standing proud. "Get out of the way child," Enjolras' father hissed. Combeferre shook his head and was slapped across the face but he remained on his feet protecting Enjolras at all costs. _

_"Shut up runt!" Enjolras' father shouted kicking Combeferre in the stomach. Combeferre feel to the floor obviously in pain. __Enjolras pulled Combeferre back, shoving him towards the house. "Get out of here!" he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously. __"I am not leaving you!" Combeferre wheezed. Enjolras' father grabbed Enjolras on the wrist, and pulled the boy towards him. __"Get out of here," Enjolras growled again, his voice rising, his eyes flashing as he was dragged towards his father. __"No!" Combeferre shouted pulling Enjolras away from his alcoholic father. Enjolras' father just pulled his son back and pushed Combeferre hard onto his back. His head banged against the floor and his eyes rolled into his skull. __"Combeferre!" Enjolras cried, racing to his friend's side, shaking him. "Combeferre, please!" He turned to his father, boiling with rage. "You monster!" he roared, attacking him with all the might he had. __Enjolras' father grabbed Enjolras by the hair and pulled him away from Combeferre who was rolling over groaning with a concussion. __Enjolras winced at the grasp, trying to yank back. "Let go of me," he roared, trying to get to his friend. __"No you are coming home with me," his father snarled lifting Enjolras over his shoulder. __Enjolras struggled and fought against his father, finally ripping free and tumbling to the ground, his head hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud, where he lay unconscious. __Enjolras' father picked up the unconscious boy and carried him back home. Combeferre awoke with severe dizziness but still stumbled over to Enjolras' house banging on the door as blood trailed down the back of his neck. He sunk down, leaning on the door._

Courfeyrac desperately wanted to know what was in the bag. He had run across the city with that bag' he needed to know what was in it. As he had got most of the buttons undone someone thumped on the door. "Police! Open up!" a gruff voice yelled through the thin wood. Combeferre grabbed the bag sliding it under the bed and threw the blanket over Enjolras. Courfeyrac jumped with a panicked adrenaline and helped the struggling Enjolras lie down under the blanket. The police couldn't know he was here. That would blow them right out of the water; Grantaire's sacrifice would all be nothing.

"Courf, lie next to him. They can't know he is here," Combeferre insisted in hushed tones. Courfeyrac nodded and slid gently under the blanket she he was as close to Enjolras as possible without them actually touching each other. He didn't want to hurt Enjolras. He was still weak and it was obvious how much his wounds pained him; no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it still shone through. Enjolras was panting from even the small movement that they had hurried in their rush to hide him. Courfeyrac tried to calm his breathing and he gently held Enjolras' hand; partially to reassure Enjolras and partially to reassure himself that everything would be alright.

Courfeyrac could hear Combeferre open the door. "Evening officers, can I help you?" he asked. "Sorry for not responding quicker I was in the bath," Combeferre apologised. Courfeyrac tensed wanting to jump out and kill that man for what the police had done to Enjolras and was inevitably doing to Grantaire as they spoke.

"Are you Monsieur Combeferre?" the guard asked.

"Have I done something wrong?" Combeferre asked. "Or is this about Ricard?" he enquired knowing full well it would defiantly be about Enjolras.

"It is about your brother Ricard Enjolras may I come in?" the captain asked.

"I'm sorry but can we do this elsewhere I have a sick friend in there and would rather not disturb him," Combeferre lied. Courfeyrac picked up on his hint and pretended to cough from under the blanket. Enjolras coughed as well but, by the pained look on his face, he wasn't pretending. "See I'm the doctor for my group of friends so they come to me when sick," Combeferre explained.

"Would you care to come with me down to the bastille? You are not in any trouble we just need to ask you some questions to help with our enquires," the captain insisted and Combeferre walked out proudly locking the door after him. Courfeyrac heard the lock click signifying they were both gone. He slowly slid out of the bed and pulled the blanket off Enjolras' head.

"Will he be alright?" Enjolras wheezed as Courfeyrac helped his back up again.

"Combeferre's strong, he will be fine I am sure," Courfeyrac reassured him.

"He better be," Enjolras stated as he leant back and closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

_**20/4/13**_

**Thanks for all the reviews and I am so sorry for the long wait!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Because suspense is fun!

Sarahbob – Thanks mate … unfortunately this is the same again but key plot points and flashbacks need to be put in. My bad mood has lightened thankfully but math revision is slowly making me grumpier again!

Juliet116 – Next Chapter sweetheart sorry!

**Unfortunately the content in this chapter is the same as WMAL … I hate doing it but it must be done for plot development next chapter though is feels and will be different from WMAL I swear!**

**Chapter 9**

"Explain!" the captain ordered and the images flashed through Combeferre's mind as if he was living it again partially from what Enjolras had told him.

_It was two weeks after the incident and both little boys has returned to the Café Musain. Rene, the current revolutionary leader and honourary father to the boys, was eager to see them and they caught up on all they missed. __Rene ruffled the blond's hair, offering him a small smile, "So, on a more serious note, how's the head?" Enjolras nodded a little. _

_"Much better, thank you. 'Ferre had it worse than I did... He still has a lump!" Enjolras stated, glancing over to his best friend in concern._

_"It's fine," Combeferre stated, not wanting any fuss for any of his friends. __Rene shot him a worried look. _

_"Take it easy, yeah, Ferre? You're a much better patient than Ricard here is," he commented, sending a wink in Enjolras's direction._

_"Tell me about it," Combeferre chuckled, "I had to set his arm and he would not stop wriggling!"_

_"It was perfectly fine. It didn't need set," Enjolras huffed, adorably._

_"It was broken, Julien," Rene said dryly while holding Enjolras' shoulder._

_"Of course it did!" Combeferre exclaimed._

_"Well I did not wriggle!" Enjolras argued._

_"Yes you did," Combeferre stated with his grin growing._

_"I was there, mon ami. You wiggled," Rene chuckled kindly; he was glad both boys were back to normal after what happened._

_"Told you so," Combeferre laughed, stucking his tongue out playfully. __Enjolras sighed, crossing his arms. _

_"Fine… Maybe a little," he pouted and sat grumpily. Enjolras humphed, adorably childlike, "You all are mean!"_

_"Sorry mon ami," Combeferre smiled hugging Enjolras playfully._

_Enjolras allowed himself a small chuckle, and he rolled his eyes, pushing Combeferre off him, "Alright, alright, it's fine," he smiled. _

_Combeferre's head began to pound again from the concussion as his vision blurred slightly. __Rene noticed this, and gave Combeferre a small, worried look. _

_"Are you alright, mon ami?" he asked concerned. __Combeferre nodded with a weak smile trying to blink away the multiplying black spots in his vision. __"Rest, mon ami," Rene sighed and lay a flag over Combeferre as a blanket._

_Combeferre nodded and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.__ Enjolras looked over towards his friend, worried. _

_"He will be fine," Grantaire murmured soothingly to the obviously worried Enjolras. __Enjolras sighed a little. _

_"I hate my father for doing that to him..." Enjolras murmured and Grantaire nodded._

"_I hear Rene gave him a screw in he'll never forget," Grantaire chuckled, trying to lighten the tense mood pressing down on them._

"_That's what I heard. I haven't seen him since it happened," Enjolras chuckled a little. __Combeferre, despite his best efforts to carry on, felt dizzy and his eyes lolled back in his skull cause him into flicker in and out of unconsciousness. Rene tucked the flag in around him and he drifted asleep again. __Rene went over and sat by Enjolras and Grantaire in his previous chair. _

_"How is he?" Grantaire murmured, glancing to his sleeping friend._

_"That head will take a while to heal, I'm afraid," Rene sighed and Enjolras looked nervously at his feet. _

_"And he is too stubborn to admit it," Grantaire added._

_Combeferre stirred drowsily with his head pounding; he moaned slightly in pain. __Enjolras turned at this sound. "'Ferre...?" he murmured as he went over to his friend's side. _

_"Urg," Combeferre moaned. "What happened? Did Grantaire hit me with a bat again?" He asked lightly feeling his head._

_"No, but your head started hurting you again," Rene chuckled lightly, stepping up behind Enjolras. _

_"Where am I?" He asked looking around. "And who are you?" He asked glaring at Rene cautiously._

_"I'm...I'm Rene. You're in the Musain. Remember?" Rene furrowed his brows slightly, panic setting into his heart. Enjolras took a step forward, worry in his eyes. _

_"'Ferre? It's me... Julien..." he stated, praying Combeferre remembered. _

_"Julien! What happened? And how did we get here?" Combeferre asked frantically moving towards Enjolras. _

_"We walked here from your place, remember? It was the first time I've been able to walk on my leg in weeks, and you had to help me. Remember?"__Worry tugged at Enjolras's heart, he gently put a hand to Combeferre's shoulder. _

_"Your leg!" Combeferre exclaimed. "What happened to your leg? Tell me who did it and I'll kill them myself!" He shouted passionately. __Enjolras paled, more so than he was already, if that's possible, and faced Rene with a horrified face. __"Enj, what's wrong?" Combeferre asked quietly. "And who is he?" Combeferre asked slightly panicking, a shaking hand pointing to Rene. _

"I need to talk to your brother," the captain nodded and stood up. Combeferre jumped up as well.

"Can I see him? I need to see him!" Combeferre insisted, he was almost pleading.

"I suppose so, wait here!" he ordered and left. The door clicked shut and Combeferre sunk back into his seat. Everything was going horribly wrong.

The door clinked open to Grantaire's cell and the same guard as before came in. Grantaire smiled up at his unexpected visitor from under his matted fringe. "The chief and a visitor want to see you. So gotta clean you up first," he commented and Grantaire nodded. The guard pulled Grantaire's fringe back to reveal a fist sized purpling black eye. "The captain hasn't been interrogating you ... What the hell happened?" He asked.  
"It was Boris," he remarked with a shrug and the guard frowned.  
"How do you know their names?" He asked looking confused at Grantaire.  
"Well ... I may, have annoyed some guards in my time," he admitted casually.

"R,Ricard," he moaned and Grantaire winked at him. "You have a visitor today … something about a brother?" he shrugged and Grantaire smiled. So Combeferre had talked himself into a visit; excellent work Lucien. "But the captain needs to interrogate you first," he muttered and Grantaire groaned. The kind guard slowly stood up and loudly knocked on the door. Grantaire sat back casually, successfully ignoring the pain raking down his body. He had to be strong in front of Combeferre. He had to show him that he was confident; maybe lie that he had a plan to get himself out … anything to stop them trying to save him.

The captain strolled in as if he owned the place; the fact he did own the place is not relevant at all. "Your friend could not validate your story!" he shouted and Grantaire frowned. Combeferre had been there. He had been hurt; he had bumped his head. Then it clicked in Grantaire's mind. Combeferre's memory loss. He cursed out loud; he had been an idiot, in the frenzy he had completely forgotten. This could blow his plan out of the water. He had messed up; again he had failed his Apollo. He couldn't even die properly. _Forgive me Apollo!_ He thought with a sigh.

"In the panic I spurted out the first even that came to my mind, that was the most memorable event in my childhood and naturally that flowed first," he replied while mentally praying the captain believed him and didn't have all three of them killed on the spot.

"Tell me what happened afterwards and I will confirm your statements," the man hissed and Grantaire spilled out everything he could remember.

Combeferre breathed deeply waiting outside the cell. His heart fluttered hoping that Grantaire's plans hadn't all caved in around him. Combeferre didn't like what Grantaire was doing but he seemed to have a plan in his head and for once he was inclined to trust the drunkard. It was a strange feeling to be relying on the winecask for something; let alone life and death issues but yet there was nothing else Combeferre could do but pray. The captain stormed out of the door and practically pushed Combeferre in while he was still thinking. Combeferre stumbled but stayed on his feet to the disappointment of the captain that followed him into the room and shut the door with a bang. Grantaire was sat confidently but the doctor in Combeferre could instantly tell how weak he was. "Enjolras, mon petit frère," he murmured sitting on the bed Grantaire was currently handcuffed to.

"Lucien, do not waste your telling me how stupid I was," Grantaire replied harshly and Combeferre sighed.

"This was an idiotic plan but I am pleased that you found it in your heart to save him … I just wish that that didn't mean you had to die," Combeferre admitted and despite the pretence he could tell that they were both speaking the absolute truth.

"I do not wish to die Ferre but it must be done to save an angel," he whispered and Combeferre nodded.

"Do not let them take your pride Ricard," he instructed and Grantaire nodded.

"They may take our lives … but they can never take our freedom," he exclaimed defiantly glaring at the captain. Combeferre smiled and stood up. He jokily saluted Grantaire before being pushed outside.

Enjolras and Courfeyrac were sat huddled together in Combeferre's bed. They hadn't moved since Combeferre had been escorted away and were waiting for him to come back. Neither of them expressed the opinion he might not be coming back but they both definitely thought it. Courfeyrac lightly massaged Enjolras' back to try and relieve some of the pent up tension and anger in the younger blonde. He had not stopped staring at the door since and was shaking more by the minute. As his symptoms matched up with what Combeferre warned him of; Enjolras was going into shock. Courfeyrac didn't know how to stop it or help. All he could do was be there for Enjolras and wait for Combeferre to return. A key clicked in the lock and both men's heart lightened as it opened. "Missed me?" Combeferre asked and was met by and panicked Enjolras jumping on him.

"Don't you dare do that again!" he ordered as strong as his croaky voice could manage.

"I promise mon petit frère," he smiled, "You better not have opened that bag without me."


	10. Chapter 10

_**30/4/13**_

**Thanks for your support again guys and around 5/6 Chapters left to go in this fic now :)**

Juliet116 – Thanks, I love writing those two as best friends and it warms my heart writing things like that

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo– This chapter I promise babes

Sarahbob – Here you are and hope you enjoy

**Again same content as WMAL due to the necessary emotional turmoil, enjoy!**

**Chapter 10**

Enjolras sat back on the bed again and the bag was back on his knee. Enjolras just stared at it as his mind rolled with turmoil; he needed to know what was in the bag but opening it meant accepting that he may not see the cynic again. After a few minutes, the sense of curiosity overcame the opposition and he carefully opened the bag with trembling hands. On the top of a pile of Enjolras' own clothes lay a small folded piece of crushed paper. The note was obviously written on whatever Grantaire happened to have at the time as the back was covered in an artistic scrawl. Enjolras slowly opened it needed to know what Grantaire wanted him to read. _Apollo, if Gav or Courf have given you this then that means my plan come through and everything is as it should be._ Enjolras chocked on his tears; everything is not as it should be, most certainly not. _I had to get you out of there.I couldn't let the marble Apollo be scuffed by those brutes. In this bag are some things I needed to give or return to you. In the base of this bag are some fake papers for you, I had to take yours to pull off this ploy but here are some replacements. _It seemed the cynic had thought of everything; maybe he wasn't as useless as everyone assumed he was. It hurt Enjolras that they had only discovered this when Grantaire was doomed.

Enjolras carried on reading aware that the other men were trying to subtly read over his shoulder. He didn't care, they deserved to know. _Also there are all the clothes I borrowed to decide what would be the most convincing, sorry if anything is ruined or anything. _Enjolras hated himself at that moment. If Grantaire thought some stupid papers and clothes were worth more than his life then Enjolras had obviously been worse to him that he thought. _Also some stuff I rescued from your place. Don't come after me Apollo … or you Fey … or you Ferre cause I know you will be reading this too._ Enjolras felt both men back off but after casting a pleading glance at them; their soothing presence returned behind him. _I don't need saving and if any of you put yourselves in danger for me then it will negate all I have done. All I ask is for you all to stay safe … and don't get yourselves killed. From your cynic. _Enjolras felt emotions boil over inside him but it was as if he was frozen in place; like he was an emotionless marble statue not a human being at all. Emotions hurt and you could be hurt if you showed them; he had learnt from this, don't show what you feel and no-one can use them against you.

He pulled the clothes out and laid them next to him on the bed gently but the contents of the base of the bag were far more interesting. The first book made shock fill his heart; Grantaire had rescued his Fall of Robespierre. Grantaire knew how special that book was to him and he rescued it. He didn't deserve to have a follower as good as him; but yet Grantaire always seemed to be there no matter how badly he was treated.

After placing his precious book next to him and removing a few more clothes, underneath was a book he had never seen before. The black paint was wearing away in places where it had obviously been rubbed or hit. Big sheets of cream paper filled it along with notes, letters, pamphlets, everything crammed into its battered covers. With trembling hands and a nervous curiosity, Enjolras opened the book. Inside was taped another note addressed to Enjolras. _Hello again, I don't want to burden you but in here is everything I treasure. You don't have to read through it … actually I would prefer it if you didn't but I doubt it will stop you. Just keep this safe for me. Goodbye old friend. _Enjolras's mind battled again over whether to read or to lock away but eventually the sense of curiosity prevailed again and he examined the first page.

The first painting he found was shocking in itself. The black and grey merged together creating a dismal scene that he recognised as Grantaire's old street, before he moved out that is. Not a single trace of light pierced the work. Red stood out running down the centre of the street. It didn't take a genius to work out that it was supposed to be a river of blood. The red oozed from under the door of the Grantaire household and formed this river. Grey people walked around it but seemingly I noticing of the atrocity around them. If people didn't know Grantaire this painting could easily be classed as republican; but it wasn't it was true. Grantaire always let his emotions flow in his painting. This was how he let emotions out and the horror was displayed clearly. Enjolras felt tears prick at his eyes as he looked. His usual R was swirled in red ink in the corner along with the date; 1812, he painted this horrid scene when he was seven years old. Seven years old, Enjolras gawped at the work. It was obviously talented for a seven year old but he had always been talented; it was more the horrors he had seen. Enjolras turned it over carefully and he recognised the older Grantaire's slanted scrawl. _Death of Innocence: RIP Eleanor Grantaire 1807-1812_. Tears threatened to flow as the hidden meaning penetrated his mind, a little sister dead;four years old. And he presumed not through normal circumstances. He hurriedly turned the page but this was no better.

The same street was sketched out this time using cheap charcoals instead of the paints on the page previously. But yet on this work there was light. Sat outside the Grantaire household was a boy; a boy shrouded in a halo of brilliant white light. He illuminated everything around him but no one seemed to care but the artist. Dark seemed to radiate from the depressing house and try to crush the light radiating from the young boy. After a few minutes of staring at the painting, it hit him. The figure was him; it was a young Enjolras. He know Grantaire saw him as Apollo but he had never seen his paintings before. Again the signature of a red R stood out in the corner and the date in identical red ink. This one was from a lot later and must have been painted in hindsight. 1823; he would have been eighteen this time. Attached to the back of the painting was an assortment of letters on headed notepaper that Enjolras instantly recognised. It was the Paris-Sorbonne University; the most remarkable art college in France. _Monsieur Nicolas Grantaire, we would like to offer you a place at Pais-Sorbonne next year. I look forward to your response, will you please send us a sample of your work._ Enjolras flicked over to the next letter in curiosity. _The painting you sent us was up to our standards and you have confirmed your place with us, Congratulations._ Enjolras couldn't believe that Grantaire would dare turn down a place at Sorbonne. He just couldn't. The page was turned again. _Dear Monsieur Grantaire, unfortunately we are not able to offer you a scholarship due the level of income of your family. Our scholarships are reserved for people that otherwise would not be able to come and you do not fit into that category. We look forward to seeing you in September._

Everything was starting to fall into place in Enjolras' mind but the next letter confirmed it. _The college is incredibly sorry that you cannot join us this year and hope you will reconsider our offer. We wish you luck with where ever you choose to go, au reviour._ Enjolras looked shocked at the letters; he had always blamed Grantaire for being a drop out. The drunkard had never corrected him. Thoughts and guilt raced through his mind; he and Combeferre could easily have paid for his fees, they could have let him move in with them. But yet Grantaire did not accept charity. He was too proud to ask for money or somewhere to live, it was always temporary. This was all his parents fault; they must have refused to give him the money needed when he moved out, so he couldn't go. The crinkle of paper snapped Enjolras out of his thoughts and he found himself crushing the letter in his hand as the anger poured from him. He would not let this go now he knew. He would never be so ignorant again. Never.


	11. Chapter 11

_**8/5/13**_

**Thanks to my reviewers and followers love you guys. Drawing near the end now and believe me it gets worse for these two yet!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Hope it lived up to expectation! Poor R …

Stagepageandscreen – This chapter is different! The end is the same but the beginning is different

GaleEnjolrasKili – Glad you enjoyed and especially glad you followed now *thumbs up*

**Chapter 11**

All was quiet. Grantaire sat alone in his cell with nothing but his own thoughts for company. A rhythmic tapping tried to distract his thoughts from varying into areas that he didn't want to think about. _Do the passages still run? It would be so easy to get out of here._ The tapping returned to the forefront of his mind. He could not escape; he had to die. But sitting there was so hard … he could escape then break back in again. Tap, tap taptap. Tap, tap, taptap. His mind ventured back to the numerous times he had broken in and out of La Force. They were good times; he could remember the first time he had broken Enjolras out. Usually the revolutionary leader made sure not to get caught; well, Combeferre made sure he did not get caught but this time he found himself in the locked cell.

_Grantaire was in the air passages. Every prison had them to keep airflow into the rooms, through slightly weak panels in the roof. Not many people knew about those passages therefore they were perfect for break ins and break outs. And that was why he was there then, to break out the mighty Apollo. Grantaire had already worked a panel out of the roof and it was laid loosely in place. He had all his equipment and it was now a waiting game. Suddenly a thump echoed in the room below. Grantaire opened a peep hole and watched the scene below. "The boss wants you to talk, and we'll make you talk," the head guard chuckled kicking Enjolras in the stomach, splintering at least one rib. Enjolras screwed his eyes shut through the roaring pain in his torso. _

"_Men, get here now!" Grantaire roared to get the guards to reluctantly leave Enjolras bound in his cell. "Pst, Enjolras," Grantaire hissed from above him. "Hey, wake up Apollo," the voice instructed more clearly nowas Enjolras was obviously not listening to him. Enjolras creaked his eyes open and Grantaire was leaning through a hole in the ceiling. _

"_R? What?" Enjolras asked confused while trying to sit up. He fell carelessly back down onto the floor and Grantaire instantly snapped back into action. Grantaire thumped onto the floor next to him, pulling a rope down next to him. "Careful Apollo, it will be harder to get you out if you are unconscious," he chuckled as he supported Enjolras onto his feet. The rope hung from the hole in the ceiling and Grantaire helped the weak Enjolras to it and boosted him up so there wasn't much left to climb. Voices shouted outside the cell and Grantaire hurriedly threw Enjolras into the passage above. He hurriedly pulled on a black and gold mask that covered the top half of his face and a thin scarf was draped casually round his neck hiding his tattoo. Everything that could make him identifyable was hidden and he was in character simultaneously. Grantaire winked to Enjolras for effect and threw the rope up before shutting the hatch. "I did not shout you, you idiots he could be gone by now!" the chief screamed as the door flew open. "You again," he hissed and Grantaire laughed._

"_Missed me?" he chuckled with a wink._

"_Boss, who's this," one of the lower ranking guards asked cautiously, eying up Grantaire with his gun raised._

"_The _**_Libérateur," the chief hissed and Grantaire grinned. He loved the name they had given him. He felt like a modern day Scarlet Pimpernel _**

**"****_They've given me a name now, I am honoured. Shame you'll never catch me though," he sighed._**

**"****_I have you now; two years, fifty seven breakouts of you and other revolutionaries … and I have you now!" he snarled. _**

"_But do you really have me, my friend should already have crawled out of here and be ready to meet me at our hideout," Grantaire replied, praying that Enjolras heard him and knew to get moving. The chief drew his gun as Grntaire began to move into position. Earlier he has loosened the bars on the window so they would just come away at a touch. He tried moving again and the gun was cocked. He darted forwards and the gun popped. A bullet sunk into the side of his stomach and the pain bullet his vision. It hurt so much but Enjolras' safety was at risk. "You'll never catch either of us, we'll just keep crawling away," Grantaire laughed, getting ready to move. _

_Grantaire suddenly sprung to action running away from the captain as he reloaded and jumping feet first out of the window. "Au reviour!" he screamed with a cheer. The bars came away like expected and he was flying through the air towards the cobbled street. It was higher than he expected; if he landed even an inch wrong then that was a nasty injury. Thankfully the landing was pulled off and he skidded along the ground laughing before setting off running, dragging Enjolras along behind him. "What in god's name just happened?" Enjolras shouted and Grantaire skidded to a halt. "I just broke you out of la Force," he shrugged. Grantaire was using his free hand to hold the side of his stomach, blood was pouring out and the pain returned with a vengance. _

"_They shot you," Enjolras stated bluntly, there was no need for fuss. He had had worse in his time. _

"_Just a scratch, you go home and get cleaned up," Grantaire shrugged and disappeared into the alleys._

The light pierced the crushing darkness that surrounded him breaking him out of the amusing day dream that had occupied his mind. The brightness bombarded every one of his senses and crushed his spirit further. This was it. This was the end. Grantaire had thought that at least one of them would try to break him out or even send a message. Nothing ever came. He guessed his message had worked too well then … or they just did not care about the drunkard's fate. The light; light was supposed to be a beacon of hope. This light condemned him to a miserable fate. He would have preferred to rot away in that darkness; the damp darkness he had grown to take comfort in, knowing the light would take everything away from him.

He still did not doubt what he did. It had to be done and he was proud to have eventually done something with his life. He had saved his Apollo; now that was cause worth dying for. Rough hands jerked him to his feet and the marble façade returned. He now knew why Enjolras kept the façade up at all times. It was a comfort and protection against a world that hated people like him. This was one of his final moments. He would stand tall and proud like he had never done in his life. He was pulled to his feet and he stood tall and proud with his hands tied behind his back and a guard on each arm. "You, Ricard Julien Enjolras, are charged with disturbing the peace, conspiracy to commit treason and repetitive break outs from la Force. These are crimes punishable by death by firing squad," the National Guard read out. "You will be executed at oh nine hundred hours," the guardsman read out.

"Ten minutes," one of the other guards whispered in his ear intending to try and make him crack. Ricard Enjolras would never crack … so he wouldn't. He remained stood tall, maintaining the cover, while the man crumbled inside. "Break outs?" Grantaire asked.

"I knew that I recognised you from somewhere," the chief laughed. "I have finally caught you **Libérateur**," he laughed and Grantaire smiled slightly.

"So you do recognise me without the mask," he laughed and was slapped across the face.

"The death of their leader and their masked vigilante … crush the revolution forever," he chuckled. "I am so glad I will never see you again," the man laughed. Grantaire did not want to die. Did anyone ever feel good about themselves when walking to their death? He could not see how Enjolras was willing to die for an ungrateful country that was now trying to end his beautiful existence. But yet, Grantaire willing to die for a man that hated him … maybe they weren't so different in that aspect.

The walk was long and slow; as if it was designed to make you tense and panic. He would not panic. He was Ricard Enjolras; his Apollo wouldn't so he wouldn't. Firing squad wasn't the worst way to go. He would rather not die at all but at least it would be honourable and virtually painless. A good way for his Apollo to pretend to die; that was a weird thought. He was more concerned about Enjolras' image of his fake death, than he was of the standard of his real death. That confirmed it … Grantaire's life was seriously messed up. The dark door loomed ahead. It towered over him; threatening, menacing. It swung open and again the poisonous light blinded him. He had lived in the dark all his life and now the light was to end it all for him. Grantaire was pushed forwards out into the courtyard they had been threatening him with for days. Eight guards lined the wall with their pristine rifles leaning against their legs. Grantaire walked proudly to stand in front of the line. His head held high as the guards let go off his and the firing squad picked up their rifles. He breathed deeply but could not bear to shut his eyes or look away from the eight identical guns. "Any final requests?" the chief asked with a smile.

"Send my body to the Café Musain, my friends will find it there," he requested and the chief nodded.

"Would you like a blindfold?" he asked but Grantaire shook his head.

"I will die facing my foes," he shouted and the men raised their rifles.

"Take aim!" he shouted and everything fell. _Forgive me Apollo,_ Grantaire thought as the world exploded and everything fell black.


	12. Chapter 12

_**15/5/13**_

**Thank for the support this fic has gained during it's time. This is going to be the last chapter of Compromised. I hope you have enjoyed (… okay maybe the wrong word) reading this and can we reach 50 reviews by the end PLEASE!**

ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo – Feels are my speciality ;)

TotaltotheMax – Don't apologise passion is good … and you will have to wait and see

Juliet116 – They do have different endings, the stories split apart now

**Chapter 12**

The Musain was quiet. The only sound was the frantic scratching of quill on paper coming from one corner. Enjolras had not eaten or slept since Combeferre had let him out of the apartment the day before. Grantaire being in prison was his fault and there was no way on earth Enjolras was going to let him die for a cause he did not believe in. Maps, notes and random papers were scattered around him, all with notes in his slanted scrawl. No one felt the urge to talk and joke while one of their friends was facing impending doom. Combeferre sat near Enjolras as a comforting presence for his best friend and sort of younger brother. Combeferre knew better than to pester Enjolras to eat or sleep now and for that, Enjolras was glad. He had not been the same since this whole affair started when he said those fateful words _"You don't believe in anything"_. Enjolras still didn't know what he was thinking when those words flew out of his mouth. And now Grantaire was going to die because of them. He never wanted this to happen. What kind of person would he be if he had said he did want this to happen to them all? But he was not going to let this end the way fate seemed to want it to.

Courfeyrac and Feuilly were asleep on a table with blankets surrounding them. All the amis refused to leave the back room of the Café Musain while Grantaire was still in harm's way. Jehan was the only one missing but that was only to go gather supplies and maybe try to find intelligence on the fate of their cynic. Bahorel sat guard by the door but even he was dozing off against the wall. Marius was sat in the corner already completely out and snoring lightly. Soon it was only the two almost brothers that remained in a nervous state of energy. "I have to save him Ferre," Enjolras mumbled, partially for his own benefit.

"I know 'Jolras … we will," he replied with a sigh. However on the inside, Combeferre didn't know what they could do to save him. Security had been doubled and the two of them were clearly being watched by the Surete. Any move that was even slightly suspicious then they would all be joining him in the cells.

Jehan slid into the Musain with tears streaming down his face. Everyone instantly awoke at the sobs of their little poet. "Jehan what's wrong?" Courfeyrac asked, softly; they were all concerned for their youngest member.

"It's Taire," he sobbed onto Courfeyrac's shoulder as he was locked in a friendly embrace. Enjolras froze as he stared at Jehan. "They've killed him, they've gone and killed him," Jehan sobbed and the world seemed to stop in shock. The usually stoic marble statue felt his chest tighten like an iron band was crushing his chest in a tight embrace. He couldn't breathe as shock took control of his body. Tears were falling down his cheeks but no sound or feeling escaped from his broken mind. I couldn't be true … it just couldn't. He could hear people talking but no words reached through the fog that surrounded his mind once again. The only thing that snapped him out of the shocked haze was a national guard's man bringing in a bundle wrapped in a red cloth. Everyone knew what lay under that cloth, but it still tore at his heart to see Grantaire's limp form lain on the table. They had seen him passed out on these tables so many times. But this was in no way the same. And it would never be like that again.

He did not look like the lively vivid Grantaire they all knew, and hated sometimes. He was smaller, thinner and his skin was a ghastly white compared to Grantaire burnt bronze complexion, which never did match with the Parisian weather. Eight bullet wounds stood out a vivid red, matching the striking colours of the fabric he was lain on. At least it looked like the bullets killed on impact; Grantaire had died instantly without pain. That was a slight relief; that he had not suffered at all in his final moments. It was as if the world had stopped still to mourn for the falling of this vibrant spirit. Despite his many flaws, and there were many flaws, Paris would not be the same without him. Nothing would be the same without him. "We will not let him die in vain," Combeferre murmured what they were all thinking. Grantaire died so Enjolras could carry on the cause. So that was what they would do. They would fight in his name.

"Make them pay through the nose," Bahorel growled.

"Make them pay for every man," Courfeyrac agreed. Enjolras had never noticed before how close those three had been. They were brothers in arms, just like he was with Combeferre. He thought about it. Enjolras was certain he would never be able to be as composed as Courfeyrac and Bahorel were, if Combeferre was lying dead on a table. Subconsciously this revelation made him shuffle closer to his older almost brother in comfort.

Enjolras couldn't take the sight of Grantaire's lifeless brown eyes staring at the ceiling anymore. He slowly shut Grantaire's eyes. Their cynical, heroic, drunkard was finally at rest. It hurt so much; the knowledge that someone died so you can live is not a pleasant feeling. The guilt tears your body to shreds like a manic dog is devouring your whole being. It is not a feeling you can live with. The tears threatened to flow and Enjolras did the only thing that came to mind. He ran and ran until he found himself stood on a bridge over the Seine. "I can't do it! I can't live like this!" Enjolras cried. The emotions and guilt poured through him like the Seine poured under the bridge. The whooshing noises coming from the torrent of water storming along the river bed suddenly became everything in his mind. Enjolras knew what he had to do to get the emotions to stop. As he stepped closer to the edge and peered over, a chill rushed through his very core.

"Whatcha doing Apollo," a wispy voice asked from next to him. He turned suddenly and everything fell still; it was as if the world was in slow motion. Grantaire was there; he looked like a faded image but he was there.

"R? You're not dead?" Enjolras asked in a delirious haze.

"Of course I am dead you beautiful idiot," Grantaire sighed. As Enjolras' mind cleared he saw the in continuities and the spectre like figure that stood next to him.

"What are you?" Enjolras asked with a slight stutter as an undertone to his usually strong voice.

"I am either a ghost of Grantaire's spirit or a figment of your imagination … I am not sure which," the spirit pondered, lightly biting his tongue in the adorable way Grantaire used to.

"How can you not know?" Enjolras questioned but the only reply he received was an offhand shrug. Typically Grantaire. "Well what are you doing here then?" Enjolras asked grumpily.

"Something about helping you make a decision," the not-really-Grantaire replied nonchalantly. "To jump or not to jump?" he chuckled.

"Well what do you think?" Enjolras asked as he slowly sunk back into that pit of despair.

"Are you happy?" the ghost asked. Enjolras thought about it and to be honest … he wasn't happy. And he probably never would be again; but the words stopped in his throat. In the end he had to settle for a shake of his blonde curls. "Then," Grantaire shrugged and dived off the bridge into the torrents. Enjolras looked over for any trace of the spirit but there was none. He stepped up to the ledge so he could jump but yet he could not bring him to. The world took on a sorrowful numbness until strong reassuring arms grabbed him from behind and lifted him down.

That was the last straw. Enjolras broke down and wept on his best friend's chest. Combeferre stood their holding him tightly. Combeferre would never let him fall; they had promised to be there for each other and this time it was Combeferre's turn. Things would never be the same but they would fight because that's what the amis do. They never stop fighting.

THE END


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